


In Fair Corona

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, COVID-19, Covid-19 Related, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Quarantine, neither of them get sick, they're just trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Or, The Clexa Quarantine StoryNobodyEverybody WantedWhile returning from a service trip abroad, Lexa volunteers to take another flight when theirs is overbooked, and Clarke is forced to accompany her.  When someone on the flight gets sick, they find themselves quarantined far from home with only each other for company.  Can they overcome their differences and realize that they're in this together?And the title comes froma socially awkward canadianon Tumblr, responding to a post fromgramjams.  I wish I could take credit, because it's brilliant!
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 60
Kudos: 417
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	In Fair Corona

The door slammed, and Lexa flinched, shrinking in on herself before she realized what she was doing and straightened again, just in time to get a face full of spit as Clarke snarled, "This. Is. All. Your. Fault."

Lexa pressed her lips together, only to realize that some of the spray of Clarke's saliva had landed on them. Under normal circumstances, it would be gross. But these weren't normal circumstances. She lifted her hand to wipe her face... and realized she couldn't do that either. _Fuck._

"Excuse me," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking even as panic rose and wrapped icy fingers around her heart. When Clarke didn't move, she side-stepped – but Clarke moved with her, blocking her path. 

"'Excuse me?'" she said, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. "' _Excuse me_ '?!" Is that all you have to say?" 

_No,_ Lexa thought. _It's not even close to all I have to say, but nothing I want to say is going to help us right now, and—_ She shoved the thoughts down and made herself meet Clarke's eyes. "I need to go wash my face," she said. 

Clarke's eyes narrowed and she looked ready to tear into Lexa, both literally and metaphorically, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, but when Lexa shifted to squeeze past her, she didn't move to intercept her this time. 

Lexa went into the tiny bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face to try to numb the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks like a fever, but it _wasn't_ a fever, damn it, it was just... anger? Embarrassment? Guilt? Fear? Some gut-churning combination of all of the above? She scrubbed her hands with three pumps of soap from the industrial-sized dispenser on the counter and nearly gagged as the thick floral scent clogged her nostrils. It was the cheap stuff used by fast food places and rest areas that had to buy in bulk, and that, along with the rough paper towels still bundled with a loop of brown paper, just added insult to injury.

She stayed in the bathroom for far longer than she needed to, her elbows on her knees and the heels of her hands dug into her eye sockets so hard she saw stars. She only came out because she knew if she didn't eventually Clarke would come knocking, needing to use it, and it would only make things worse. 

If that was even possible.

Because Clarke was right... or right-ish. This _was_ her fault. Not the quarantine – that was the fault of a virus no one had ever seen before that had, over the span of a few months, turned from a single city under siege to a global pandemic – but the fact that they were caught in its crosshairs and trapped together in a tiny efficiency apartment for at least two weeks. 

Because when their school group been informed there weren't enough seats on the flight back from their service trip over spring break and they were going to need some passengers to give up their seats, Lexa had volunteered. She knew with her father's military status, and her own military ID she still carried as his so-called dependent (it had been a long time since she'd depended on him for anything other than health insurance, which did her no good now and probably wouldn't if she got sick, either, under the current regime), she would have an easier time getting booked onto another flight than your average obnoxious college kid. 

But Lexa hadn't known that, in a fit of excess concern, their advisor would insist on another member of the group going with her on the flight, and she _certainly_ hadn't known that Indra would choose Clarke when no one raised their hand to volunteer to accompany her. (And _that_ hadn't been a blow to the ego at all...) She'd tried to tell Indra she would be fine on her own, that she didn't want to inconvenience anyone else, but Indra's mind had been made up and once she decided on a course of action, there was no swaying her. 

She also hadn't known that on the new flight they were booked onto there would be a man who would, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, spike a fever and develop a hacking cough that no amount of water or cough drops could quell. 

She hadn't known that her attempt to do a good deed – and hadn't that been the whole point of the trip they'd just taken? - would land her and the girl who now hated her more than ever locked down together in a glorified hotel room. 

She hadn't known, but that didn't make it any less her fault.

Clarke glanced up at her when she came into the living room – if you could call it that – and then away, staring fixedly at her phone, scrolling down the screen, tapping, scrolling again, tapping again, scrolling— "Will you knock it off?" she growled. 

"I'm not—"

"You're staring," Clarke said. "I can _feel_ you watching me. Go... find somewhere else to be."

"Where?" Lexa asked. "Where exactly do you suggest I go?"

"You can go play tiddlywinks with manhole covers for all I care," Clarke said. "Just stop fucking _hovering_."

"Go— What the fuck does that even mean?" Lexa demanded, startling them both, because Lexa Woods didn't swear. She was always proper, always polite. An upstanding citizen and role model, never a hair out of place, never a feather ruffled. Not out loud, anyway. Not on the surface. In her head she swore like a sailor, and in her heart... in her heart she was a goddamn mess. 

Clarke blinked, her face contorting in a way that, if she didn't know better, Lexa might have thought was an attempt to hide a smile. "I don't actually know," she admitted. "It was something my dad would say when me and my friends were bored and driving him crazy."

"Why don't you look it up?" Lexa asked, nodding toward Clarke's phone. 

"Why don't _you_ look it up?" Clarke countered. 

"I can't," Lexa said. "My phone died on the plane, remember?" Because her charging cord had stopped working and when she'd asked Clarke if she could borrow hers, she'd said no, she was using it, even though Lexa had already caught a glimpse of her screen and seen that her battery was at 87%. 

Clarke's lips pressed into a thin line, but she tapped on her screen and typed something. "'Tiddlywinks is a game played on a flat felt mat with sets of small discs called 'winks', a pot, which is the target, and a collection of squidgers, which are also discs,'" she read. She trailed off, her eyes flicking back and forth. "This can't be real," she said. "They're making this shit up. _Squopping?_ " 

"What?" Lexa reached for Clarke's phone, then pulled her hand back, not only because it was Clarke's phone and there was no way Clarke was going to let her see it, but also because studies had shown that cell phones were one of the most bacteria-laden things you could touch, and the last thing she should be doing was risking further exposure to, well, anything. 

To her surprise, though, Clarke turned the screen so Lexa could read it, watching her and scrolling when her eyes reached the bottom of the page. "How would you play that with manhole covers?" Lexa asked.

"I think he was telling us to go play in traffic," Clarke said. "Only in a ridiculous dad way." 

"Right," Lexa said. "You think if we asked them to get us a tiddlywinks set, they would do it?" 

"I'm going to go with no on that one," Clarke said, her mouth twitching, and this time Lexa was a little more sure that she was fighting to keep from smiling. "But they did say to let them know if there was anything we needed..."

"Pretty sure they wouldn't count some obscure children's game as a need," Lexa said. 

"Hey, it had a resurgence as a serious adult pursuit at the University of Cambridge in 1955!" Clarke said. "I read it on Wikipedia so it has to be true!" 

"I'm more inclined to ask them for better soap," Lexa said. "And maybe some real hand towels." She hadn't looked, but she imagined the bath towels were the postage-stamp sized crispy cotton ones usually found in budget hotels. 

"That bad?" Clarke asked. 

"Beggars can't be choosers, I guess," Lexa said. 

"We shouldn't be beggars," Clarke said. "We should be home. We _would_ be home if—" She stopped herself, maybe realizing that it did no good to pick a fight because they were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. Clarke's attempt to convince the soldiers who had escorted them to their new temporary home that they didn't know each other and shouldn't be housed together had failed. Somehow they'd known they'd been traveling as part of the same group, and because they had a limited number of places to put the passengers of their flight, their fate had been sealed. 

"I'm sorry," Lexa said softly. "I didn't mean to drag you into this."

For a second, Clarke's eyes softened. For a second, Lexa thought there might actually be forgiveness there. Then her phone chimed with an incoming text. She glanced down to read it, and her expression hardened again. She turned away from Lexa and began typing furiously back.

* * *

**Mom:** I'm sorry, sweetie, but there's nothing I can do. We need to take this virus seriously, and if you've potentially been exposed, the best thing you can do – not just for yourself but everyone else you might come in contact with – is to remain in quarantine until we know for sure that you haven't caught it.

 **Clarke:** What if I did? Don't you want me to be where you can take care of me?

 **Mom:** Of course I do! But you're not, and there's nothing either one of us can do to change that. If you become symptomatic, I'll pull whatever strings I can to make sure you get the best care possible. In the meantime, just focus on school... assuming there is school to focus on.

 **Clarke:** What?! Why wouldn't there be school? Shit, Mom, I can't afford to miss classes because I'm trapped here! You HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!

She knew she was being unreasonable. She'd been reading about the virus, and the potential it had to get out of hand very quickly if extreme measures weren't taken. She knew her mother was right, and her leaving quarantine put others at risk. But two weeks trapped in what amounted to two rooms – two and a half if you counted the bathroom – with Lexa Woods? Even if they didn't get sick, there was no way they would both survive it. 

**Mom:** You won't have to. I just checked and your spring break has been extended by a week, and after that classes will be online only for the rest of the semester. You'll be able to attend from where you are. 

**Clarke:** I don't have any of my books. I don't have my laptop. I don't have ANYTHING, Mom! 

**Mom:** I'll see what I can do about that. 

**Mom:** If there's anything your roommate needs, have her give a friend or family member my contact information and we can ship it all together.

 **Clarke:** She's not

She stopped and deleted it. There was no point in saying Lexa wasn't her roommate; for the next two weeks ( _at least_ , the soldiers had warned) she was. At least there was two beds, even if there was only a couple of feet of space between them, and they wouldn't even be able to fart without the other knowing about it. 

She snorted back a laugh at the thought, an edge of hysteria creeping in. She could feel Lexa's eyes on her again, watching her shaking shoulders, probably wanting to ask what was so funny, but Clarke wouldn't tell her even if she did. She wouldn't talk to her at all if she could help it. She'd managed to avoid doing so the entire time they'd been helping to rebuild a school that had been destroyed in the latest in a string of natural disasters that wasn't likely to abate any time soon. Why should inescapable proximity ruin a good thing?

 **Clarke:** Will do.

 **Mom:** I'm sorry you got caught up in this. Please do whatever you're told. I know that's never been your strong suit, but you don't want to give them any excuses to make your life even more difficult than it is.

 **Clarke:** I'll be on my best behavior. 😇

 **Mom:** 🙄 I'll believe that when I see it. 

**Mom:** I've gotta go. I love you, sweetheart. I'll see you soon.

 _Not soon enough,_ Clarke thought, and it had been a long time since she'd felt that way about her mom. Their relationship had been strained since her father's death, and it was only recently they'd started to find their way back to each other. 

**Clarke:** Love you too. Stay safe.

 **Mom:** I will. TTYL

Clarke swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump from her throat. Because as bad as this was... how much worse would it be for her mother, who would be on the front lines of dealing with it if anyone got sick? What if _she_ didn't take proper precautions, or what if what they thought were proper precautions turned out to be wrong, and she caught it? What would happen then? They said that it hit older people harder, and those that were immune-compromised, and her mother wasn't _old_ but she wasn't as young as she used to be (obviously) and she would run herself ragged trying to help those in need, and—

She jerked away when she felt a light touch on her back, swiping furiously at her cheeks. "Don't fucking touch me," she snarled. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

Lexa yanked back like she'd been burned. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I was only trying to help."

Clarke narrowed her eyes. "Well don't," she said. "You've done enough already, don't you think?"

* * *

"Hey!" someone called, their voice muffled by the mask they wore. Not one of those disposable cheap paper ones that were to protect the sick from spreading their germs to others and did nothing at all to protect the healthy, but a real one, the kind given to those forced to deal with hazardous materials, properly fitted so there were no leaks or paths of ingress for whatever might be lurking in the air, waiting for an opening to get in and set up camp in their host's lungs. "Hey, you can't be out here! Go back inside!"

Lexa wanted to get closer, to charge right up to the fence that separated the quarantined from their jailers and rattle it, rattle them, but what good would it do? It wouldn't get her out of here. Maybe if she showed her ID, asked to call her father...

... but he would only tell her they were following orders and to do as she was told, to not make waves or a spectacle of herself. To not embarrass him. So there was no point. 

"I just needed some air," she called back. 

"Get back inside," they repeated. 

Lexa sighed and did as she was told. 

"Where were you?" Clarke demanded as soon she closed the door. Not because she cared, Lexa was sure. More likely she just wanted another reason to hate Lexa and going against the orders they'd been given was as good a reason as any, and better than some. Lexa didn't actually know what the rest of her reasons were; she'd never asked and Clarke had never bothered to tell her. It was just there in every look they'd ever exchanged. 

"Playing tiddlywinks with manhole covers," Lexa said. "Until I got squopped."

Clarke's cheek dented like she was biting the inside of it, but this time she lost the battle, and her lips quirked into a crooked smile. "I was going to make some dinner," she said. "They stocked the kitchen... kind of. It's pretty basic, but..." Clarke trailed off with a shrug. "Are you hungry?"

The truth was Lexa's stomach was in knots, more so after her confrontation with the person on the other side of the fence, such as it was, but there was no way she was going to refuse the olive branch Clarke had extended. "I could eat."

Clarke nodded and began to open the cupboards, and Lexa got a peek inside. From what she could see, 'basic' was being generous. But it was only the first day. Maybe it would get better.

 _Or maybe it will get worse,_ she couldn't help thinking, and panic clawed its way up her throat until it was all she could do not to scream. 

"You can use my charger if you want to," Clarke said. "It's in the living room."

Another olive branch, or maybe just a way to get Lexa to leave. Maybe it was a little of both. "Thanks," Lexa said. She went to retrieve her phone from her carry-on, but she didn't plug it in. She couldn't stand the possibility of turning it on to find a blank screen with no notifications of anyone reaching out to make sure she was okay. 

Ignorance wasn't bliss, but sometimes not knowing allowed a person to cling to hope. 

A flicker of color caught her eye and she looked over at Clarke's screen in time to see it light up with a message... and then another, and then another, cascading down the screen and Lexa knew she shouldn't read them but she couldn't help herself.

 **Raven:** That sucks. Try not to kill her – you'd have a hell of a time hiding a body in quarantine 😂

 **Raven:** I know I know it's not funny

 **Raven:** (only it kind of is... of all the gin joints in all the world and all that)

 **Raven:** Maybe you can pull the stick out of her ass while she's sleeping

 **Raven:** OOOOOooo is there ONLY ONE BED?!

 **Raven:** 😏😏😏😘😘😘😂😂😂

Lexa flipped the phone over, then scrambled to catch it before it slid off the arm of the couch, her cheeks and stomach burning. She thought about retreating to the bedroom, begging off dinner whenever Clarke finished it because she wasn't hungry, but all she'd had to eat since breakfast was airplane snacks and she wasn't very good at lying. But how the hell was she supposed to sit across from Clarke at the tiny table and pretend everything was fine? 

_The same way you've sat through countless meals with your father,_ she told herself. _Just pretend it's Captain Titus Woods staring you down and you'll be fine._

* * *

"Are you okay?" Clarke asked after several minutes of strained silence and mechanical chewing, with Lexa alternately staring at her plate and a spot somewhere past Clarke's ear, her gaze so intent Clarke almost turned to look to figure out what was so fascinating. 

"Fine," Lexa said. "Are you?"

For a second, Lexa's eyes had met hers, but then they shifted to Clarke's forehead, close enough that most people would think she was still maintaining eye contact, but if you were paying attention you could tell her focus had drifted. It made Clarke want to reach out and grab her jaw, to demand, 'Look at me when I'm talking to you!' 

She wondered what Lexa would do. Would she pull away? Would she even flinch? Would she grab Clarke's hand and break her fingers one by one? 

She did the next best thing. She told the truth. "No," she said. "Not even close."

Sure enough, Lexa's eyes locked back on hers after a quick flickering examination of the rest of her face, and Clarke realized she was probably searching for signs of fever or any other indication of illness, and it made Clarke's heart trip to realize there was genuine concern in her look, not just fear for herself and her own well-being. "Should I get someone?" she asked. 

"Sorry," Clarke said. "Not... I feel fine. Physically. Even if we caught it, we probably wouldn't know for a few days. Just... all of this..." She waved her hand at the walls that penned them in. "I'm not good at being caged."

"Some birds aren't meant to be caged," Lexa said softly, like she was quoting something, and maybe she was. "You would tell me, though, wouldn't you? If you started feeling sick?"

"I'm sure they'll be stopping by, doing daily checks of our temperatures and all that," Clarke said. "I wouldn't be able to hide it if I wanted to."

Lexa dipped her chin in a nod. "At least then you could get away from me," she said. 

Clarke's jaw dropped, but nothing came out but air. It sounded like a threat, almost, but it didn't feel like one. Lexa didn't say it like she _wanted_ Clarke to get sick, but more like she was trying to find a silver lining for Clarke if she did. Guilt knotted Clarke's gut, threatening to expel the spaghetti she'd just choked down. (Because they weren't even decent enough to give them jarred sauce; it was canned and tasted like it.) 

"I'll do my best to stay out of your way," Lexa added. "We can figure out a schedule of who gets what room when, who cooks dinner, who cleans up, who—"

"You never stop, do you?" Clarke asked. "You always have to be in control, always have to be the one calling the shots, always—"

Lexa was smiling, or trying not to smile, and Clarke felt herself heating up. What the hell did she find so funny? 

"What?" Clarke finally demanded. 

"Don't you think that maybe that's a little hypocritical?" Lexa asked. "You aren't exactly known for your laid-back, easygoing demeanor." 

Clarke bristled, her fingers clenching around her fork, and for a second, just a second, she thought about lifting it and—

And maybe Lexa had a point. Maybe she was just as guilty of everything she accused Lexa of, and maybe that's what made this so difficult. She wanted control, _needed_ control, and she had none. She didn't get to control where she lived or who she lived with, she didn't get to come and go as she pleased, she couldn't even go to the store and get food she wanted to eat; her meals were dictated by whatever the powers that be deigned to give them. She didn't even have anything to wear right now, because their suitcases had been on their first flight and had landed safe and sound (she hoped) at the airport at home, but they weren't home, their flight had been re-routed and they had to wait for their bags to be re-routed too, and what if no one was doing that? She should call the airline. She should—

"Breathe," Lexa said, long fingers wrapping gently around Clarke's wrist. "Clarke. Just breathe." 

Clarke forced herself to release the fork and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. "Sorry, I—"

"It's okay," Lexa said. "You're okay. Let's clean up. Unless you're not finished?"

Clarke looked at the half-eaten plate of pasta and wrinkled her nose. "I'm done," she said. "Whose turn is it?"

"Mine," Lexa said, "since you cooked. But I thought maybe..." She trailed off. "Mine," she repeated. "You can go check in with your friends or whatever." She forced a smile and drew back, getting up and gathering their plates, then turning her back on Clarke as she piled them in the sink.

"What about you?" Clarke asked. "Did you check in with your friends?"

Lexa glanced back at her. "What makes you think I have any?"

* * *

In the morning, their suitcases were waiting outside their door, just sitting there in the open as if there was no danger of someone coming by and stealing them... but maybe there wasn't. They were all prisoners of their little apartments; there was no one roaming the streets except masked workers, and then only when they had to. Otherwise, they might as well be living in a ghost town. 

Lexa dragged them inside, depositing Clarke's at the foot of her bed. Clarke poked her head out of the bathroom where she was brushing her teeth and grimacing. "I fucking hate spearmint," she'd grumbled the night before. "And what are these toothbrushes made of, twigs? We'll be lucky if we have any enamel left by the time they let us out of here." 

Lexa had assumed she was talking to herself and hadn't answered. They hadn't exchanged a word, only a few vague 'after you' gestures when they found themselves trying to occupy the same space at the same time. Lexa had thought about saying good night as they'd settled into their beds, separate but too close for comfort, but in the end she'd just turned off the light and pretended to sleep. 

"I don't know if I actually have anything clean in there," Clarke said, eying the suitcase like she had x-ray vision and was examining its contents. 

"I do," Lexa said. "If you need to borrow anything."

"Of course you do," Clarke said. "I'll be fine. They have to give us some way to do laundry. They can't expect people who are returning from abroad to have a two-week supply of clean underwear on hand. We can't _all_ be overachieving over-packers."

"I'll go ask," Lexa said, turning away quickly so Clarke couldn't see the tears that burned her eyes. It was a stupid thing to get emotional over; she'd been called far worse than that in her life and she'd just let it roll off her like water from a duck's back. But she hadn't slept more than a hour or two the night before, and Clarke's obvious hatred stung... all the more because she didn't know what she'd ever done to earn her ire. 

She went outside, knowing someone would notice sooner or later, and sure enough within a few minutes a woman in a mask appeared on the other side of the fence. "You need to—"

"Do laundry," Lexa finished for her. "We need to do laundry."

The woman made a huffing sound like she was asking for something utterly unreasonable. "What unit are you staying in?" she asked. Lexa gave her the number. "Someone will be by soon with bags for you to put your laundry it. It will be returned when it's done." 

"We can do it our—" Lexa started, but the woman cut her off.

"No," she said. "You can't. Now go back inside."

"Oatmeal or cornflakes?" Clarke asked as soon as she closed the door.

"It's my turn to cook," Lexa said. 

"It's not really cooking," Clarke pointed out. "It's pouring a grain product into a bowl and adding either milk or water, and in the latter case putting it in the microwave for a couple minutes. So oatmeal or cornflakes?"

"Cornflakes," Lexa said, dropping into one of the chairs with a thud. She didn't like cornflakes, but she liked instant oatmeal even less. It had the consistency of lumpy glue and just the thought of it made her gag. "They'll send someone with bags to put our laundry in. They won't let us do it ourselves."

Clarke set a bowl of cereal in front of her. There was too much milk, but Lexa didn't say anything. "Under other circumstances, I would be all for it," Clarke said. "Fluff and fold service? Sign me up. I _hate_ folding laundry." Her words were punctuated by the beeping of the microwave buttons. 

Lexa opened her mouth but quickly closed it again, shoving a bite of flavorless cereal into her mouth before it got soggy, which she knew it would long before she got to the bottom. There was no way she was going to tell Clarke she didn't mind folding laundry, that there was something soothing about turning everything into neat little squares and organizing it in drawers. Clarke didn't need any more fuel for her fires. "Thank you," she said when she finished chewing. 

Clarke shrugged. "Did you tell them it's urgent? I'm on my last pair of clean underwear." 

"They said they would come by soon," Lexa said, then admitted, "They didn't say how long it would take for them to bring it back." 

"Well did you—" The microwave beeped and Clarke yanked it open, pulling the bowl out and hissing when she realized it was still too hot to touch. She dropped it on the counter so quickly it nearly spilled and sucked on her fingers before running them under cold water. 

Lexa got up and went to her suitcase, retrieving a tiny tube of aloe that she thankfully hadn't needed from her toiletry kit. She held it out to Clarke, but Clarke didn't take it, just stared at Lexa like she'd grown a second head. 

"I'll just leave it here," Lexa said, setting it on the counter. "If you decide you want it." She went back to her cereal, which had gone flaccid in the swimming pool of milk Clarke had created, but Lexa forced herself to eat it anyway, because she didn't know when – or what – her next meal might be. By the time she finished, Clarke (and her bowl of oatmeal, and the tube of aloe) were gone, and the TV was on in the next room... except it wasn't really the next room because nothing separated one from the other. She had it tuned to a news channel, and Lexa couldn't keep herself from hearing one report after another about how the world was falling apart and the powers that be were doing nothing, _nothing_ to stop it.

* * *

Putting aloe on one's own finger turned out to be trickier than Clarke thought. It was probably unnecessary – her fingertips were only slightly scorched, not really _burned_ \- and there was a spiteful little part of her that wanted to refuse it because it had been from Always Prepared Girl Scout Lexa, but in the end she decided it couldn't hurt. She ended up applying it like hand lotion, basically, and hoping for the best. 

Someone did eventually come for their laundry and told them they would have it back before the end of the day. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief; she hadn't been lying when she told Lexa she was on her last pair of clean underwear, and she was acutely conscious of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra because all of them were dirty. Not that Lexa was paying attention, and not that it mattered if she was, but it still made her self-conscious every time she caught a chill and her nipples strained at the front of her shirt. 

**Raven:** How's it going? Have you killed her yet?

 **Clarke:** It's fine.

 **Clarke:** I'm fine.

The first was mostly the truth; the second was a complete lie. She wasn't fine, and she wasn't going to _be_ fine until she was out of here, safe at home. Wherever that ended up being since it wasn't going to be school... and that was a strange feeling. It was her final semester, and it was going to be spent taking classes from quarantine, and then... where? Her childhood bedroom? She hadn't gotten as far as finding an apartment for after she graduated, so she had nowhere else to go.

Would there even _be_ a graduation? Or would all of the pomp and circumstance get lost in the pandemic shuffle? In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter, but she hadn't busted her ass for four years just to get her diploma in the mail. 

**Raven:** Everyone's really worried about you. And pissed at Indra for putting you in danger.

 **Clarke:** She didn't know. 

**Raven:** It's still bullshit.

 **Clarke:** Nothing we can do about it now. 

**Raven:** I could come bust you out. Go all Area 51 up on that bitch.

It took Clarke a minute to realize that Raven meant the quarantine camp, not Lexa. She rolled her eyes. 

**Clarke:** It's only two weeks. I can survive anything – and anyone – for two weeks.

 **Raven:** Yeah okay. But I want you to know now that I'm not gonna visit you in the loony bin. Or jail. So keep it together.

 _I'm not the one you should be worried about,_ Clarke thought, but she didn't say it, or type it, because she didn't want it to become A Thing. Telling Raven she was worried about Lexa would just lead to an onslaught of suggestive emojis, and Clarke didn't want to deal with it.

But she was definitely worried about Lexa. 

Although she hadn't gone so far as to make a schedule, Lexa had been true to her word that she would stay out of Clarke's way as much as she could. So when Clarke claimed the living room, Lexa retreated to the bedroom, but not to sleep, despite the fact that she had barely slept the night before. Clarke could hear her pacing, back and forth, back and forth, occasionally sitting down but getting back up again a minute later. Clarke had eventually had to turn up the volume on the TV to drown it out before it really did drive her crazy. But there was only so much doom and gloom one could take, and she'd never gotten into any of the soap operas or talk shows that made up daytime TV so she'd finally had to turn it off.

And Lexa was still pacing. 

Clarke got up as quietly as she could and twisted the knob, easing the door open just a crack. Lexa turned and froze when she saw Clarke peering in. "Do you need the bedroom?" she asked. "I can—"

"No," Clarke said. "We're going for a walk."

She watched Lexa's teeth clench, making the line of her jaw even sharper, and her throat worked. "We can't," she said finally. "They'll just tell us to go back inside."

"They'll tell us," Clarke said, "but will they _make_ us?" When Lexa didn't answer, Clarke opened the door farther and held out a hand. "Come on."

* * *

Lexa knew she shouldn't take it. Clarke wasn't holding it out for her to take it, and if she tried, it would be like Lucy and Charlie Brown with the football, yanked away at the last second and Clarke laughing at her for falling for it. 

She also knew she shouldn't accept the offer, because she didn't know if they would be forced back into their holding pen but she knew it wouldn't earn them any brownie points to start defying the rules that had been outlined for them upon arrival on the very first day. 

But she couldn't stay in this room forever. She couldn't be alone with her thoughts and a phone she'd finally charged and its blank screen and no response from Anya who had been almost like a sister to her growing up until their lives had taken them in two different directions and she didn't even know what continent Anya was on right now or whether she was safe and she wasn't answering her phone, or Lexa's texts, or her email. It had only been a few hours and it might be the middle of the night for her, but would it kill her to take half a second to send the two tiny words that were all Lexa needed to hear: 'I'm okay'?

Lexa knew she shouldn't take Clarke's hand, but she needed something, _anything_ to anchor her and keep her from drowning in the spiral of her own thoughts, and Clarke was offering, and...

Clarke's fingers closed around hers as their palms met, pulling Lexa closer, out of the room and then out the door. They'd made it past two other tiny units – Lexa might have called them trailers but they weren't trailer shaped, more like a bunch of motel rooms that weren't joined together – before someone approached on the other side of the fence at a trot. 

"You need to—"

"Breathe," Clarke interrupted, her fingers clenching around Lexa's because she still hadn't let go. "We need to breathe. Air. Real air. Fresh air. We're not hurting anyone by being out here. Everyone else on this side of the fence has already had the same exposure we have. We'll stay far away from the fence, and anyone else we see walking around. We just need a few minutes to stretch our legs, then we'll go back in."

The masked person looked ready to argue, but finally they shook their head. Lexa imagined they were scowling, but she couldn't see enough of their face to tell. "Ten minutes," they said. 

"Thank you," Lexa said, because it was clear from the way Clarke was glaring that she wasn't going to. "Ten minutes."

"It's not enough," Clarke grumbled. 

"It's better than nothing," Lexa countered. 

Clarke huffed, and for a second Lexa thought she was finally going to let go, but in the end she just started walking again, her thumb idly stroking Lexa's as they settled into a pace that worked for both of them. Neither of them set a timer, so they didn't know when their ten minutes was up, but Lexa could practically feel the tension radiating from the other side of the fence even though she couldn't see anyone, so at the next crossroads she turned them toward home. 

Their laundry was waiting for them when they got back, stuffed into the bags it had been taken in... unfolded. Clarke looked at it and actually growled, and Lexa had to bite back a smile. 

"I'll fold your laundry if you make dinner again," Lexa offered. 

Clarke looked at her, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, but after a second glance at the offending bag, she let go of her grip on Lexa's hand and turned it into a shake. "Deal." 

Lexa picked up both bags and took them to the bedroom, dumping out Clarke's first and trying not to think about the fact that she was touching garments that had touched Clarke in places that Lexa never would. 

Not that she wanted to. Obviously. Clarke was beautiful and smart and funny in a snarky, sarcastic way, and fiercely loyal... to a fault, sometimes, Lexa thought, but she wasn't judging. She'd done her fair share of sacrificing her own desires for the greater good. But she was also probably straight, and she hated Lexa, and the fact that she'd come to check on Lexa and they'd spent a quarter of an hour holding hands didn't change that. It didn't _mean_ anything except that Clarke was trying to make the best of a bad situation. 

It was all either of them could do.

And right now that meant folding Clarke's laundry and putting it away without thinking about the little flips her stomach had been doing every time Clarke's thumb brushed over hers. 

Once Clarke's was done, she turned to her own, finishing just as Clarke called out that dinner was ready. 

It was chicken and rice and vegetables, flavorless and bland because apparently spices other than salt and pepper weren't considered necessary by whoever had stocked the kitchen. "I'm making a list," Clarke said, nodding toward a piece of paper covered in her scrawl. "I know we won't get all of it but maybe we'll get some of it, so if there's anything you want, add it and we'll see what we get." 

Lexa nodded, taking a gulp of water to wash down the chicken and grimacing at the tinny taste of the soggy green beans. "It could be worse," she said. "It could—"

"Don't," Clarke said, putting her finger against Lexa's lips. "Whatever you're going to say, don't say it. Don't put it out into the universe. Don't speak it into existence." 

Lexa pressed her lips together, pulling them away from Clarke's skin. "Better," she said, when she was able to breathe again. "It could be better." 

Clarke almost smiled. "That it could."

* * *

_I should have known,_ Clarke said, trying not to laugh when she opened the drawer that Lexa had carefully placed her pajamas in. _I should have known she would go the full Marie Kondo._

"Thanks," she called to Lexa, who had been brushing her teeth for so long Clarke wondered where her mind had gone. "This sparks joy."

Lexa snorted, then spit, turning around with her eyes watering and her cheeks red. "You're welcome," she said. She quickly finished getting ready for bed and buried herself under her covers. "Good night."

"Good night, Lexa," Clarke said, and genuinely hoped it would be. 

But when she woke a few hours later, Lexa was crying. She was trying not to, but Clarke could hear her hitching, hiccupping breaths, for a moment she thought she should just leave Lexa to it, let her get out whatever she needed to get out, but then she made a sound somewhere between a whine and a moan, and Clarke's heart cracked apart and she slid out of her own bed and into Lexa's. 

Clarke felt Lexa stiffen as her arms slid around her, but when Clarke laced her fingers through Lexa's, Lexa pulled her hand to her chest, pressed against her pounding heart, and Clarke settled in, fitting herself against Lexa's back. 

"It's okay," Clarke said, her lips brushing the back of Lexa's shoulder. "It's okay to be not okay." 

And the dam broke, and the floodgates opened, and Clarke held Lexa close and then closer, letting her cry until there were no tears left and she was still and quiet in Clarke's arms and she finally, finally slept.

* * *

In the morning, Lexa tried to apologize. "I'm sorry about last night," she said.

"I'm not," Clarke said. 

And that was that, because how was Lexa supposed to argue? And she didn't really want to, because the moment they had shared, in silence and sobbing surrender, seemed to have cleared the air and settled whatever grudge Clarke had been carrying. They weren't friends, exactly, but they were allies, in this together for however long it lasted. 

It was nice to not feel like she had to walk on eggshells, at least within the confines of their own space. When they stepped outside – which they did several times a day, because they had to do _something_ and even Netflix lost its appeal after a few days – it was a different story, but it seemed their forays into the outdoors had inspired others because they occasionally came across others going for a stroll, and they would exchange small talk for a few minutes before moving on. 

They ate together, and sometimes even cooked together, and argued over what movie to watch at night before bed, and usually Lexa let Clarke win. And at night they each got into their own beds and turned out the lights... and that's when reality inevitably sank in, and they let themselves say the things that they were _really_ thinking: 'What if they don't let us out in two weeks? ' 'I still haven't heard from Anya... and I'm afraid I never will.' 'I'm worried about my mom. She doesn't know when to stop.' 

And eventually one of them would get up and climb into bed with the other, and it was only then that they were able to sleep.

Lexa told herself not to read too much into it. It was just for comfort; they were just each other's living teddy bears. She told herself the way Clarke looked at her sometimes when she thought Lexa was asleep, or not paying attention, was only an artist's regard – because Clarke had taken to sketching on just about every paper surface she could find to pass the time – and nothing more. 

She told herself that what stirred in her belly when Clarke's lips touched the nape of her neck as she whispered good night was only gratitude that Clarke had moved past whatever it was that had made her dislike Lexa in the first place. She told herself that she couldn't let it be anything else. 

And then one night Clarke crawled into her bed and pressed her face into Lexa's neck and whispered, "I feel like the world has forgotten us... and I'm scared of being alone." 

"They haven't," Lexa told her, sliding her fingers into Clarke's hair and easing her back so she could look her in the eye. "They won't. And you aren't."

* * *

"You aren't."  
Clarke's eyes flicked down to Lexa's lips, and it wasn't the first time she'd noticed them, but it was the first time she'd noticed them when they were this close to her own, close enough that she could feel Lexa's breath on her skin, taste it on her tongue, and she knew she shouldn't do it, knew it would complicate things in ways she shouldn't complicate them. But now the thought was in her head – how easy it would be – and she was struck by a feeling of crushing inevitability. Still, she held back, breath caught in her throat—

And then Lexa's lips pressed against hers, and Clarke exhaled and melted into the kiss that told her more surely than any words ever could that even if the world _did_ forget them, she wasn't alone. 

And for the span of that kiss, she forgot the world, and the fact that it was tumbling down around them and there was nothing they, or anyone, could do to stop it. But even when it was over, when they pulled apart, gasping for breath in a way that had nothing to do with sickness, everything still felt a little lighter, a little easier to face. 

So Clarke did it again. And again and again and again, and Lexa smiled – at her, for her – and laughed when Clarke's fingers found a ticklish spot on her side, and gasped when they slid a little farther up, and their lips met and parted and met and parted again when Clarke skimmed Lexa's t-shirt up her ribs and over her head and off, and her body became Clarke's entire world as she learned how and where she liked to be touched, and the taste of her skin and the silken slide of her body against Clarke's when she sulked until Clarke took off her own shirt and fell into her, shivering and then quaking as Lexa learned Clarke's own desires in turn.

They pressed into and against each other, over and over until they were sated and spent, so entangled Clarke didn't really know anymore where she ended and Lexa began, and she didn't care.

* * *

Any fears Lexa had had the night before about Clarke brushing what had happened aside, dismissing it as a one time thing or a mistake, were laid to rest when she woke to Clarke smiling down at her, haloed by the sunshine streaming through the window. "Good morning," she said. "Did you sleep well?"

Lexa nodded. "You?"

"Best I've slept in a long time," Clarke said. 

Lexa felt warmth flood her cheeks, which ached from the smile that stretched itself across her face. She pushed herself up, and Clarke down, and they didn't get up for breakfast until it was nearly time for lunch.

That afternoon, her phone finally chimed, signaling she had a message, and she dove across Clarke's lap as they sat on the couch to retrieve it from where she'd plugged it in to charge. 

**Anya:** I'm okay. Talk soon. Stay safe.

Relief flooded through her, and tears pricked her eyes. 

"Everything okay?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa nodded, showing her the message. 

"A woman of few words," Clarke said. "Unlike _some_ people..." She showed Lexa her own phone.

 **Raven:** I KNEW IT

 **Raven:** I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

 **Raven:** I KNEEEEEEW IIIIIIIIT

 **Raven:** Did I mention I knew it? Because I knew it.

Lexa looked at Clarke in surprise. "You told her?"

"Was I not supposed to?" Clarke asked. 

"No," Lexa said. "I mean no, it's okay. I just..." She swallowed, shrugged. " _Technically_ she's also a woman of few words," she pointed out. "She just keeps saying the same ones over and over again."

Clarke snorted. "Whose side are you on?" she asked, pulling Lexa in and kissing her. 

"Pretty sure we're all on the same side," Lexa pointed out, "but if you need me to prove it..."

* * *

Clarke stared into the drawer and its neatly folded contents, and at her empty suitcase, and felt her stomach twist itself in knots. It was over. They were free to go. Except it wasn't really over – it was only just starting – but they were cleared from quarantine and allowed to return to their homes to be prisoners there instead of here. 

Two weeks ago, it had felt like this moment would never come. Now that it had...

"Where will you go?" she asked, looking at Lexa, whose bag was already packed, and who had barely looked at Clarke since they'd been given the news that their time was up. "Now that it's over. Where's—"

"I don't know," Lexa said. "I don't—" She bit her lip, her teeth denting the skin and turning it white. "I don't really have anywhere to go."

Clarke closed the distance between them – it was only a few steps – and tipped up Lexa's chin until Lexa met her eyes, saw the fear and the hope there, the fear _of_ the hope there, and kissed her, soft and sweet, because neither of them was alone. Not anymore. "You do now."

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone out there impacted by the pandemic... which at this point is pretty much everybody in the world... I wish you all the best. I hope this helps brighten your day at least a little. Stay healthy, stay safe, stay sane!


End file.
